


Adapting

by herbailiwick



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 11:44:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anderlock fluff for theglintoffherspectacles.</p><p>Anderson and Sherlock try to make thinking about how to adapt a priority, since they're always surprising each other.</p><p>Rated G</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adapting

A cool breeze wafted in through the open window. They'd fanned most of the fumes out a good ten minutes before, but it was good to make sure. 

"Sometimes you're a real disaster," Anderson said, crossing his arms. 

"You'd know. You only seem to implicate yourself with disasters." Sherlock stood to grab his notebook from the coffee table in the other room, but he stumbled dangerously. "Hands off!" He said, righting himself, brushing off the steady assistance he'd needed or else he would have tripped and ended up falling hard on his knees.

After a flash of irritation, Anderson's lip quirked. Sherlock did need him, really.

Sherlock slightly turned to look at Anderson, assessing him. "Though I suppose I was a bit lightheaded. Thank you."

"You need a biscuit." 

"I don't _need_ anything."

Anderson blocked his path slightly. "I make sure you get to the next room so you can take some notes. I bring you a biscuit or two. You eat said biscuits."

"You are such a mother hen!" Sherlock scoffed, making his way to the coffee table a bit more slowly, just a bit. "I always thought you'd loosen up away from crime scenes. I was wrong."

"I'm plenty loosened up. I'm more adaptable than you are."

"Oh, that's rich!" Sherlock glared at Anderson from over his shoulder, indicating he wanted him to follow, like he'd said he would. Sherlock seemed much more steady, but he'd appreciated Anderon catching him.

"People like me at parties. At least, they like me more than they like you."

"Only when I'm not showing off. That way, you look almost interesting. But if I turn on the charm, watch out."

"People can tell, you know," Anderson said, taking a seat next to Sherlock as Sherlock began to take notes. "People can tell when you're not being sincere."

" _You_ can tell. People can't. And that's just because you fuck me, _Mum_."

Anderson rolled his eyes. "That's it. I might make you eat a sandwich if you keep this up."

"You wouldn't dare."

"You love my sandwiches."

"I don't want any sandwiches."

"I bought something that might change your mind about that."

Sherlock sat straight up, head whipping round. "Oh really? Show me."

Anderson bowed and stood, making his way back into the kitchen. "Coffee too, darling?" he asked. "You've had a long day at the experiments."

"So have you," Sherlock pointed out. It was true; they'd started on their own experiments early on, and Anderson had finally given up and gone to settle in with a paperback novel full of tripe Sherlock wouldn't read to a lab rat. At least Sherlock had stopped deducing the endings to his stories. 

Mostly.

"I'll just have some tea," said Anderson. He reached into the drawer to find his new secret weapon: biscuit cutters intended for cutting sandwiches. Sure, it was a bit juvenile, but so were Sherlock's sporadic eating habits.

Sherlock was still scribbling out observations when Anderson plopped the mug on a coaster and a stack of two biscuits on the table. He made a second trip and offered the plate with the sandwich.

Sherlock looked up, then his hand stilled. He dropped the pencil, glancing up at Anderson for a moment before looking back at the sandwich. 

"Oh," he said. "Are those...?"

"Dinosaurs, yeah," Anderson said, biting his lip, then making a quiet sort of guffaw. "Yeah, I thought it'd be amusing."

"It is," Sherlock said slowly, setting the pencil down. He reached for the plate. "I wouldn't have predicted this in 65 million years."

Anderson giggled. "Well, go on then. Eat your sandwich dinosaurs." He sat down next to Sherlock and rested his head on his shoulder. "Experiment go well, aside from the fumes?"

"Yes. And the fumes made me hungry." Sherlock smiled as he picked up one of the dinosaurs and bit off its head. "Did you do anything different from usual?"

"Not ingredients-wise, no. They're just dinosaurs now, is all."

"I approve," Sherlock said quietly. 

"What was that?" Anderson grinned, closing his eyes as he rested against Sherlock.

"I approve," Sherlock said clearly. "See? I'm adaptable."

"Sometimes, yes," Anderson agreed.

He dozed off, finding himself opening his eyes when Sherlock got up. He looked around finding the sandwich finished as well as the coffee and both biscuits. "Look how much you ate!" he praised.

"Well I'm not a robot, you know," Sherlock said with amusement. He offered a hand to help Anderson up. "Oh!" he said. "Anderson, will you rinse out the test tube labeled '4' as I get into bed?" When Anderson looked to protest, he said, "Isn't it wonderful to see Sherlock Holmes ready for bed so early? A nice surprise, yes? Good boy, Anderson."

Anderson rolled his eyes and set about his task. Unable to help himself, and realizing Sherlock probably predicted as much, no, counted on it, he wiped at some of the workspace until he was satisfied.

He finally made his way upstairs, smiling slightly at the periodic table on the wall as he entered. Then, he looked at Sherlock, his Sherlock, gorgeous and all wrapped in soft pyjamas. He got into his own pyjamas as well.

"Could you be a dear and fetch me something I left in my trouser pocket?" Sherlock asked with a hint of mocking.

"Like you wear your trousers loose enough to fit anything into the pockets," Anderson groused. But he found Sherlock's trousers in their spot on the floor and fished through the pockets, freezing when he felt...no.

"Sherlock?" He turned to frown at Sherlock, hand still deep inside the pocket. 

Sherlock smiled a real, genuine smile. "I believe I asked you to fetch it, did I not?"

Anderson, kneeling, rested back on his feet, chewing at his lip as he slowly pulled the velvety jewelry box from its place in the pocket of the discarded trousers. His face felt hot. The room felt hot. He swallowed. He swallowed again. He tested the weight of the box in the palm of his hand. It felt like nothing, but it felt like everything.

He felt tears start to prick at his eyes, forcing himself back to his feet, making his way over to the bed, trying to focus on Sherlock's face, the expression on it muddying the separation between amusement and apprehension.

Anderson slid into bed, chewing at his lip again, curling the covers around him, handing the box over. There was some distance between Sherlock and himself, and he didn't make an attempt to lessen it. He stared at the subtle pattern of the duvet.

Out of the corner of his eye only, he watched Sherlock open the jewelry box. Sherlock rolled over onto his side, holding the box out. "Anderson, look," he said.

Shakily, Anderson turned.

Oh, it was gorgeous. Sleek, gorgeous, delicate yet strong like the tilted wrap of a bandage he'd never have to remove. A row of diamonds in the middle, also tilted, with an asymmetry that didn't bother him in the slightest. Not in the slightest.

"You're kidding!" he gasped out.

"In what way do I seem like I'm kidding?" Sherlock said sharply, voice low and dangerous.

Anderson paused, looking over at his easily-injured partner. "It's just expensive, is all. And...wonderful." It was the ring of someone who was truly cherished. His eyes darted away from it for a moment, then slowly crept back. He flushed. 

Sherlock relaxed. "I tried to deduce which one would be the best fit, and this was the one I decided upon. Yes, it's expensive, but if you're going to do something, you might as well really do the thing. You like it. The look in your eyes gives you away. You're...you're going to cry now," Sherlock said, a little awed. He stared at Anderson.

Anderson felt the first two tears fall. "I didn't expect this. I'm overwhelmed. Overjoyed," he assured Sherlock, "but overwhelmed."

"Will you come closer so I can comfort you?" Sherlock asked carefully. Anderson laughed a tearful chuckle and scooted closer, embracing Sherlock, letting the contact warm and reassure them both. 

"My answer's yes," Anderson said.

Sherlock took the ring out of the box and took Anderson's hand in his carefully, sliding the ring on. It was a perfect fit, of course, and it shone in the low light of the lamp if he turned it just so. 

"You're worth every penny," Sherlock said with touched amusement. "I was going to wait a bit," he admitted.

"Did something change your mind?"

"Something made me adapt, yes," Sherlock said.

"What was it?" asked Anderson, curling up to his fiance.

Sherlock quirked his lip. "Dinosaur sandwiches."

Anderson laughed through his tears, and Sherlock began to cry through his chuckling, and they cuddled until they fell asleep with dreams of the future on their minds, dreams of experiments on the weekends and of juvenile ways to deal with juvenile eating habits, dreams of strong but delicate rings and the promise of being cherished.


End file.
